


My Dear Departed Valentine

by AVinaccia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, FACE Family, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Romance, Valentine's Day, the title is a trick nothing bad happens I promise, this is basically just a rom-com with superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:47:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26279683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVinaccia/pseuds/AVinaccia
Summary: The son of a superhero whose signature was all things love, Matthew Kirkland-Bonnefoy was no stranger to Valentine's day, rather, he was quite the expert in turning the holiday into something rivaling Christmas itself, but he had never been one to activily participate in the romance of it all. That is, until a literal embodiment of death showed up at his doorstep proclaiming something more than just a crush, and disintigrates into a pile of ash.As Matthew is about to realize, when your entire town is full of supers, finding your unorthodox secret admirer is a lot more difficult than originally planned.
Relationships: Austria/Hungary (Hetalia), Canada/Prussia (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia), Japan/North Italy (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Dear Departed Valentine: Otherwise known as the completely stereotypical story that I wrote back in 2015 that I wanted to develop to its fullest extent because in 2020 we accept our dubious pasts and questionable story ideas. This was originally supposed to be part of some big expansive universe surrounding this AU but at this point I’m just happy to have something uploaded and I figured because I have an inordinate amount of time at home right now that it was as good a time as any. (I also may have originally wanted to post this back in February but...oops) #BringBackHetalia2020

While Matthew liked to believe that his family holiday traditions were relatively normal in comparison to others - a general excitement surrounding the holidays that manifested itself in a sometimes copious amount of decorations and a penchant for lavish meals and large extended family get-togethers -, even he couldn’t disguise the truth when it came to Valentine’s Day. Sure, it was easy to spin a tale of familial normalcy when asked about Christmas or Thanksgiving; hiding the truth that his family was probably insane, that a combination of a more-than-average apparent need to be obnoxious and too much alcohol guaranteed at least one major blowout before the evening was up, not to mention the constant promise of something being set on fire (whether intentionally or not depended on who you asked). However no amount of rationalization could withstand the argument that Valentine’s Day was most definitely not a typical family holiday, and any infighting that occurred on what was supposed to be the day of love was a result of pure habit and not your typical holiday stressors. 

Thinking about it, Matthew wasn’t completely sure why his family placed Valentine’s Day on the same pedestal as the end-of-the-year festivities. At first, he had strongly suspected his Papa Francis’ hand in encouraging a massive celebration of the holiday - being an emotional conductor with a profinity towards love and other such emotions meant that Valentine’s Day was his bread and butter -, and he could have accepted as much when it came to his own immediate family, but including his uncles and aunt as well? The Kirkland siblings weren’t exactly known for their willingness when it came to showing emotions, so their eagerness to participate in this annual tradition had always perplexed Matthew, who knew his Dad and uncles to be particularly emotionally-stunted with feelings that didn’t deal directly with annoyance, anger, or sarcasm. In fact it seemed like just by being around each other the amount of love in the room decreased ten-fold, unless you considered pointed jabs and throwing various household objects (and sometimes each other) love, in which case Matthew had been around this type of behaviour long enough to kinda-sorta, maybe understand how his family operated. 

A barrage of something that looked suspiciously like the mixed nuts uncle Dylan had been eating sailed over Matthew’s head. Or maybe the Kirklands were just looking for an excuse to drink and eat food at the expense of their youngest brother. 

Either explanation was equally plausible, and frankly at this point Matthew was almost desperate for some sort of talking point he could offer at school when probed by his classmates as to why the fire department would visit the Kirkland-Bonnefoy residence three times on Christmas Day, or provide a bit more context as to why Alfred was going around telling everyone that he spent his weekend hanging upside down from the hole in the ceiling (courtesy of aunt Ciara’s particularly pointed glare) to watch TV in the living room without ever having to leave the comfort of his second floor bedroom. 

Which brought him to his current situation; in which what had started as a calm morning watching a football game had somehow turned into a raucous argument over who was actually the best footballer in the Premier League, and whether Bergkamp and Ronaldo should count because they weren’t technically British. But if the complete neglect of the actual game and the slightly acrid stench of burning fabric suggested anything it was that the timelines didn’t matter and also that someone had once again managed to singe either the curtains or the tablecloth despite his Papa’s best attempts to keep flammable materials away from the group. 

“What I don’t understand is why you’re still smarting about Terry’s penalty in 2008 and...for god’s sake Dylan this isn’t a bloody food fight!” 

Dylan grinned, tossing a handful of what was definitely peanuts slowly up and down in his palm as Arthur fumed at him. Matthew caught sight of Aunt Ciara sneaking various pink and red candies into her own lap from the dish beside her, no doubt to use as projectiles should the occasion arise. 

“I’m still raging at Terry because the shot was literally right fecking there and he grannied it!.” Uncle Alastair fired back.

Ciara finally piped up, apparently satisfied with the quantity of her weapons horde, “You don’t even back Chelsea?” She surreptitiously passed a few to Sean, the other occupant of the couch, taking extra care not to solicit the attention of Arthur, who was stiffly sitting on the other end. 

“It’s the goddamn premise of things!” 

“But you have to admit, he was a deadly chancer in ‘05 though.” Added Uncle Sean, “Besides, wasn’t his elbow dislocated right before that final?” 

“Gammie elbow doesn’t mean his leg becomes gash when kicking.” 

Uncle Dylan was all too eager to contribute and leaned forward in his armchair, “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s Chelsea’s most successful captain, makes him a pretty successful contender for ‘best of all time’ aie?”

“Don’t be a minger, you going at me inna?” Alastair snapped, his accent becoming thicker as he pointed an accusatory finger at the offending sibling, his other hand clenched tightly around his armchair’s plush arm. 

“Oh my god, you move to Glasgow for a few years and look what it’s done to you.” Arthur lamented.

Thankfully, unlike the other times his father had brought up his disgruntlement at Alastair apparent newfound way of speaking, likely fueled by the eldest’s constant jabs at Arthur’s ‘uppity’ way of speaking, Alastair seemed to flourish at the thought of re-instigating their well-debated argument and turned his attention back to the person beside him. Matthew, sitting on the floor beside said chair, was suddenly struck by the hindsight that, despite sitting on different pieces of furniture, his Dad and Uncle were still technically beside one another, and that proximity probably wasn’t a good thing for preventing arguments. “Haw, dinnae know ya was down with a case of spondoolyitis ya sassenach.” He was laying it on thick, and judging by his pinched expression, Arthur knew it. 

Although no one had yet abandoned their spots scattered about the living room, Matthew didn’t know for how much longer that would ring true. Along with Alfred who, curled up into a burrito on a beanbag chair in the corner, the only one still actually watching the game and looking very comfortable indeed, probably would have needed a significantly large explosion to coercere him in moving, and even then, Matthew couldn’t be sure.  
“Art’s been talking shit since before he was born.” Dylan waved with a dismissive hand. Matthew sent him a silent thanks from across the room for intervening before something literally went up in flames. “Don’t see what this has to do with football though.” 

“Dad thinks that Beckham is the best.” Alfred piped up suddenly from his beanbag, looking like the picture of innocence. 

There was a beat of silence before Alastair absolutely chortled and slapped his knees, “And the truth comes out!” 

A chorus of guffaws rose up from the assembled as his father balked, no doubt indignant at his son’s betrayal. 

“Of course Artie would say that, he thinks Beckham’s fit!” Sean snickered, winking at Ciara, who flashed him an exaggerated eyebrow raise in return, communicating in whatever secret twin telepathy they had going on. At least in that regard it was nice to have another set of twins in the family. 

His aunt, always the troublemaker, gestured to the room with wide hands held out in surrender, as if she was giving a grand speech rather than about to perpetually embarrass her little brother by revealing his darkest secrets. “Artie, we know about your magazine stash, it’s not a secret anymore.” She said innocently, wide eyes betraying the absolute mirth in her expression. 

“First off Ciara, fuck off, and secondly, Beckham didn’t even debut until 1992, at which point none of us were living together anymore, and which means there certainly no magazines to speak of.” Arthur spoke, the offending publication type in question sounding like poison. 

“Oh yeah, you were too busy fawning over those manky punk bands and miscellaneous naked torsos.” She shot back, contemplative, then certainly teasing. Matthew didn’t think Uncle Alastair could laugh harder, but the ensuing rise in volume proved him oh-so wrong. “My bad Artie, I get confused sometimes.” 

“At least I’m not the one gushing over Ronaldo’s pectorals.” Arthur quipped. 

Ciara looked affronted and placed a hand over her chest, “Oh as if you haven’t done the same!” 

“I can stand witness to the fact that Art did indeed, have a weird stash of magazines hidden under his mattress, and that we stole half of them from Alastair in the first place.” Dylan added, prompting an irritated ‘’oi!” from the eldest brother, who has finally ceased his laughing, whereas Arthur looked torn about whether Dylan was backing him up or making things worse. 

Alfred, who was finally tuned in to the conversation, caught Matt’s own gaze with a blatant ‘what the fuck is happening’ expression. Matthew mimed a gagging expression and Alfred covered his ears. This was definitely not something either of them had expected or wanted to hear; it was more than a bit weird to be hearing about not only their aunt and uncles’, but also their own father’s sexually motivated teenage exploits. He was not going to think about it anymore, absolutely not. 

At least Aunt Ciara had the decency to look a little appalled “God you’re all complete haymes, what the hell were you lot doing looking at the same porn?” 

Yeah, Matthew was going to need extra strength bleach after this. 

A look to his left showed Matthew it wasn’t just him and Alfred who were traumatized by the direction the conversation was taking. It wasn’t just an expression anymore, Arthur was literally smoking at the ears, grey wisps drifting up to the desensitized smoke detectors and he now whipped around to stare at his sister. Sandwiched between them, Sean looked torn between amusement at his brother’s plight and an extreme desire to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, especially now that Arthur was leaning very close and looked more than a little intimidating with a literal cloud of smoke surrounding him. 

“You’re not just confused, you’re downright mental if you think even for I second that I was stashing-”

Dylan was quicker, and louder, to the punch, drowning out Arthur’s protestations, “Don’t go acting all high and mighty on us Ciara, who’s the one who was sneaking Lewis Richardson into their room at three in the mornin’?”

Now it was Ciara’s turn to be angry. Her orange hair crackled with sparks, “Low blow Dylan. Need I mention July 1986?” 

The room swelled in a crescendo of protestations as each sibling decided now would be the best time to talk, or accuse, or refute. Whatever the case, Alfred looked delighted at the chaos and Matthew was steadily developing a headache, suddenly understanding why his Papa had gracefully excused himself from the living room earlier. 

Carefully, so as to not draw any unwanted attention (not that they would probably notice anyway, too embroiled in the daily argument), he stood up and took his exit from the brewing war scene before him. As intriguing as the events of July 1986 might have been, Matthew was more than content to escape the cacophony, scurrying through the hallway into the relative safety of the kitchen. 

Once inside, the murmur of some random radio station announcer mulling over the day’s events in rapid French and the periodic ripping of scotch tape betrayed a much calmer scene and he no longer felt the need to have to look over his shoulder lest some ill-flighted peanut land in his hair. 

“Ils se disputent encore?” Came a voice from the other side of the room. 

Balancing on a stool and in the midst of tacking up various coloured streamers across the dining room entryway, Francis Kirkland-Bonnefoy still managed to give off an air of elegance that was a nice contrast to the chaos currently brewing in the living room, even if the effect was somewhat cheapened by the collar of red crepe looped haphazardly around his neck and spiraling onto the floor. 

Always with a flair for the dramatic, Francis never passed up an opportunity to show off some of his ‘world-renowned’ interior decorating skills and as a result the Kirkland-Bonnefoy house would be decked to the nines at any major holiday or event without fail. Arthur had grumbled about the extensive decorations being a ‘complete waste of time and money’ yet every year the Brit could be seen up on the roof or some equally as ridiculous location around the house installing whatever new centrepiece had caught his husband’s fancy this time around. Last year he’d even trimmed the bushes in the front of the house into a rough heart shape, something that Matthew heavily suspected -going off of his Papa’s elated reaction to seeing them- wasn’t the result of a French decorative flair but rather a secretly sentimental English one. 

In any case, this year’s Valentine’s was no different. Window stickers and strands of crinkly paper heart cutouts lined the large bay windows facing the backyard while copious amounts of streamers crisscrossed artfully across the ceiling. Craning his neck to peer past his Papa, Matthew could make out their dining room table decked in a deep red tablecloth with small antique cherubs and the beginnings of themed place settings stacked in the corner

Matthew nodded and snagged one of the heart shaped cookies that lay cooling on the counter, prompting an exasperated huff from the corner, “No touching! À cause de toi et ton frère nous n’en aurons pas assez pour ce soir.”

Matthew regarded the countertop - filled to the brim with an impressive display of cookies, cupcakes and other such goodies - and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow, munching on his prize. “Ben oui, parce que sans eux nous mourrions de faim.” 

“Je décèle du sarcasme? Mon dieu, tu as l’air de ton père.” Francis snorted and attached the last of the paper to the corner of the cabinet, jumping off the stool to collect his discarded decorations. 

“Désolé Papa, I just heard a...very traumatizing conversation. Sweets are good after things like that you know.” 

Francis made a tsking sound and stopped his busying to stare inquisitively at his son, “Honestly, they all act like children sometimes. What are they arguing about now?” 

Matthew dawdled for a second, biding his time by polishing off his cookie and then shoving his hands deep into the pocket of his hoodie. Red of course, for Valentine’s Day. “Well..first it was about football.” Francis rolled his eyes, unsurprised, “Then it was about um...magazines that..various people have stashed underneath their mattresses.” 

His papa let out a loud guffaw that could have rivaled Uncle Alastair’s, but was quick to bring his hand up to his lips, never wanting to tarnish his reputation with any garish noises. “Of all the things to argue about. Mathieu, please don’t take any social cues whatsoever from your father’s side of the family, I don’t know how they come up with half the things they do.” He sighed, brushing away a stray strand of hair that had escaped from his low ponytail, “And he says my family is the bad influence.” 

“Didn’t Aunt Lucille get arrested for ‘confounding people’ and committing grand larceny?” 

Francis snorted and wiped away a slight stain on the countertop, “She was never convicted.” His voice dropped an octave, “Though I think she got a good look at the judge’s eyes which helped quite a bit. Besides.” He tossed the cloth into the sink and turned to face his son, “Lucille is Arthur’s favourite in-law so he has no room to judge.” 

Matthew laughed, “He never mentions that part of the story does he?”

“That he does not.” Francis rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the counter, “Mathieu can you help me with the place settings? Considering how helpful the rest of the Kirklands are, I expect that we’ll finish everything three days after Valentine’s day.” 

A sudden crash came from the living room and Matthew had the very bad feeling that the coffee table was the unfortunate source. His papa seemed to have the same idea because he huffed in the direction of the living room and picked up a fluffy pile of napkins and assorted paper cutouts in a jerky movement. 

“Make that four with the cleanup.” Matthew added with a sly smile. 

Francis only sighed and deposited the pile into Matthew’s waiting arms. “It will be at least six, maybe seven if we have to call in the fire department. Which reminds me, I promised Captain Hedervary that I would send her a box of macarons as a thank you for having to come out last week.” 

“Are you going to tell her that Dad’s not allowed to take work phone calls at home anymore?” Alfred piped up suddenly from the corner, having just entered. He made a beeline for the island and snatched two cookies from the cooling tray without hesitation. Francis nearly shrieked and swatted at him, “I just told your brother not to touch! Mon dieu we’ll have nothing left by the time dinner comes.” 

Alfred just laughed and quickstepped his way to the other side of the room, shoving one of his prizes in his face as he joined his brother. “What’s that?” He asked, though the crumbs made it sound a bit more like ‘wazzau’. . 

Matthew shrugged the pile, “For the dining room.” He offered by way of explanation. 

Alfred groaned, “Don’t put the sparkly stuff near my plate, I was basically spitting glitter after last year.” 

“That’s because you put your spoon in a pile of it, cher.” Francis didn’t even turn around from the fridge. 

“Why was there a pile in the first place? I’m like accident prone remember, can’t be around stuff like that.” Alfred took an unnaturally large bite out of the second cookie. 

“Can I bubblewrap you then?”

“Shut up Matthew.” 

“Alfred if you’re just standing there eating my cooking can you help me with the chicken?” Francis pulled a marinating tray from the fridge and swept free a place on the counter, “The seasoning is just over there so if you just want to put these on a tray and give them a sprinkle they will be perfect!” 

Alfred chomped down, “Yeah, sure Papa.” He shouldered his way past Matthew, despite him not actually being in the way, and naturally Matthew pushed back, delaying the other only momentarily as he sauntered cheerily over to his chore. A few cutouts fluttered to the floor. 

“How is the situation with the five hotheads?”

Matthew slowly kneeled down and began adding the fallen papers back to his pile, glancing up periodically to watch as Alfred swayed slightly, pulling various spice jars off the rack. “Aunt Ciara brought up July 1986 and now they’re arguing over whose fault torching like an entire subdivision is.” Alfred sniffed the cinnamon bottle, sneezed, and set it back. “Is it true that Dad blew it up? Cause that sounds pretty badass.”

“There is nothing ‘badass’ about property damage.” Francis retorted, miffed as he made air quotes to go along with his statement. 

Alfred had neglected the spice rack in favour of staring at Francis with a shit-eating grin on his face, though Matthew doubted it had ever left in the first place, “You didn’t answer my question Papa.”

Any form of cohesion with the cutouts had long been lost with their sudden descent, and Matthew deposited his pile onto the counter in an attempt to straighten them out. 

Their father looked pensive, “To be honest I don’t think Arthur has ever told me the full story, though I do suspect that has something to do with the fact they were all inebriated at the time.”

“But is it true that they burnt a whole subdivision down?!” 

“I think that is a better question to ask your father non? Now stop pestering me with questions and take over the chicken.” 

Alfred threw his head back and groaned, trudging his way over, “Not cool Papa, why’d ya gotta be so enigmatic?”

“Oh big word, don’t hurt yourself.” Matthew teased. Alfred made a face and flicked a handful of pepper towards him, but the other disappeared before the cloud could hit him. 

“Les gars! Not you too. Mathieu, what did I say about invisibility in the house?” 

Matthew reappeared behind Alfred, standing far too close for comfort and with his face angled directly over his twin’s shoulder. “Sorry Papa.” Alfred shrieked and Matthew felt the sweet sense of victory wash over him. 

“Fuck me running, don’t DO that Matt!” 

Matthew just cackled and made his hasty retreat before any more spices could be ‘misplaced’ into his nasal cavity or other various orifices that he would much rather keep pepper-free. That didn’t stop Alfred from trying to fling the entire bottle at his head however, and in the span of about 3 seconds Matthew was cursing that he hadn’t been born with super speed that could rival his brother’s rather precise throws. 

The second the bottle made contact Matthew had already made up his mind to start the dramatics, inherited from his Papa and reserved for moments such as these. “My god, I’ve been hit!” He exclaimed, pretending to stagger as his hands came up to clutch at his face before remembering that it was in fact the back of his head that was struck, “This is the end for me! I can see the light!” He dropped to his knees and extended an arm towards the ceiling light, “Grandma is that you?” 

Alfred, who was most accustomed to these sorts of games and rather, usually the one to initiate them, gasped in mock horror as he slid to join his brother on the floor, hugging him from behind.  
Matthew clutched at his heart and toppled to the side, “I think this is it for me, Al.”

In his best impression of any B-list actor, Alfred delivered, “My god. What have I done?” He stared into the middle distance, “This is all my fault.” 

Francis, who was looking increasingly exasperated by the minute and more and more like he was starting to regret every life decision that had led him to this point, groaned in what the twins thought was the most melodramatic avenue possible and dropped his elbows to the table; his face was quick to follow into his hands before he wiped his eyes and prostrated his fingers to the sky. 

“I’ve done nothing to deserve this, I dedicate my lift to preserving the peace and this is what I’m rewarded with.” He lamented. Matthew and Alfred shared a look, Alfred’s eyebrows rocketing up exaggeratedly high up his forehead while the former pursued his lips and slowly shrugged. 

“Uh yeah sure pops, whatever you say. But don’t go into the light Matthew, you’re stronger than this!”

“It’s too late, save...yourself.” Matthew wheezed, “But I have one, one last request.” He fancied himself quite the actor, this was actually some of his best work. 

“Anything for you man.” 

“Could you…” He coughed, building up the tension just like that one youtube video had taught him, “Could you hang up the dining room decorations for me?” 

Alfred blinked, once, twice, and then dropped him, “Scratch that, I retract my earlier statement about not going into the light.” 

A thud as Matthew’s back made contact with the cold tile and his breath whooshed out of him just a bit, frankly though, he was too busy laughing. “Aw come on? One last request from a dying man?” 

“You look fine to me, oh wait, maybe you should get your face checked out for being ugly.”

“We literally have the same face.”

Alfred only stuck his tongue out in response. Any retort Matthew could have had died on his lips as a crash from the living room interrupted him, followed soon after by a shout that was most definitely from his Uncle Alastair. The noise seemed enough to snap Francis out of his self-imposed melancholy though, and the Frenchman only sighed before making his way to the door. 

“I’m going to go make sure they haven’t broken anything important.” He hesitated for a second, then grabbed the fire extinguisher. “I swear, if there is another fire.” 

Matthew, now fully recovered from his ‘near-death’ experience, pushed himself up from the floor as Alfred re-occupied their father’s place. “Good luck.” He muttered. 

“Just as long as I never have to listen to that magazine conversation again I’m happy.” Matthew mumbled back. 

Evidently it wasn’t quiet enough to escape their father’s ears and he whirled around, stalking over, placing his hands on Matthew’s shoulders and staring at him intently. Matthew was once again reminded of how quickly one’s emotions could change and he beheld the grin currently aimed at him, “But of course Mathieu, you know you can always talk to me about any questions regarding l’amour or any feelings that you may have-” 

“Ohmygodpapapleaseshutup.” Matthew clapped his hands over his ears as Francis chuckled, “I don’t need this from you too.” He scrambled to pick up his pile of decorations and made a hasty retreat towards the dining room. Alfred guffawed. 

“I am an agent of love mon choupinou, and today is my day to spread that knowledge to the world.” His Papa regaled to his retreating back. Francis turned to Alfred, “Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go stop a murder before it ruins my carpet.” 

“Your funeral.” 

Matthew didn’t catch his father’s response as it made it to the safety of the dining room, mercifully away from any and all who might disturb is solitude. Or at the very least, a safe distance away from Alfred, who tread about as lightly as a freight train and was therefore awful at any operation that required any modicum of stealth. 

In comparison with the rest of the kitchen, the dining room could also pass as if a small red, white, and pink bomb had gone off inside and his Papa’s handiwork was evident throughout in the form of streamers and various antique knick-knacks pilfered from random antique sales throughout the years. Why he wanted to add streamers more was a mystery but Matthew had learned not to question these things. 

One such of these knick-knacks included the small porcelain placeholders in the shape of beaming little cupids, However, time had not been kind to them, and their smiling faces had been chipped away in an effect that the twins found quite terrifying. If you were one like Francis however, one might even call the little cherub cute, if they hadn’t had to endure it and its compatriots for nearly two decades. But tradition was tradition, and if there was one thing his parents liked, it was tradition...sometimes. 

Matthew huffed, but shook his head and continued decorating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this universe, everyone has some sort of power that manifests itself around the age of 13. These powers can range from the mundane to extremely high-level magicians capable of a wide range of abilities. Evidently this also means that there is a fair share of superheroes and supervillains (basically the big-name celebrities) but this isn’t as relevant to this one-shot. It isn’t common for people to have overlapping abilities but it does tend to happen with more generic ones. Sometimes people can get a mish-mash of their parents abilities or certain traits can be passed down through generations (albeit with somewhat of a personal signature: for example, Arthur is a pyromancer descended from a long line of ‘firebenders’ but his signature is the ability to control the emission of smoke from said fire as well). Arthur also has general ‘wizard’ like powers because I like that idea, not entirely sure of the backstory for that though.
> 
> Also, I suppose it is important to mention, but I really like the idea of Matthew being very similar in Alfred personality-wise, but he is much more reserved when it comes to interacting with others that he doesn’t know as well in public.


	2. Chapter 2

Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, Francis Kirkland-Bonnefoy was only mildly regretting having invited his in-laws over in the first place as he came across what could only be described as the precursor to an all-out brawl. Thankfully nothing had been engulfed in a full flame, but if the slight wisps curling up from the corner suggested anything, it was that the curtains had probably been singed yet again. With annoyed disdain, he also noted the copious amounts of foodstuffs that now littered the carpet, a sign likely attributable to Dylan, who was rather fond of food fights as opposed to talking things out like a normal person. 

Francis sighed at the chaos, only slightly grieving over the lost time that would result from having to steam clean the carpet, but feeling slightly better and less vengeful as he simultaneously decided that this particular cleaning task would go to Arthur instead. He briefly mourned the loss of their loyal coffee table, which was indeed turned over on its side and missing a leg for some reason, but that could wait until later as well. 

“No I don’t care what you think, the Oxford comma is a perfectly reasonable form of punctuation and you have no right to criticize it the way that you are.” 

Speaking of Arthur, his husband looked to be particularly embroiled in one of his favourite rants as of late, and from the mischievous look in Dylan’s eye, he knew exactly what buttons to push to make his brother absolutely bonkers with frustration. Evidently, it was working, as Arthur was up and expressive. In fact, all the Kirkland siblings were now on their feet, except for Sean, who was nearly becoming one with the couch as he leant back as far as possible, eyes wide as he attempted to distance himself from the escalating argument currently happening between Alastair and Ciara. 

“The Oxford comma is so 20th century Art, can’t we trust people to draw their own conclusions without some sham tick mark doing it for them!”

“Tell that to the strippers JFK and Stalin!”

“Wot.” 

It was time for him to step in. 

“I am sure Arthur has a perfectly logical explanation for why certain political figures are now dancers, an explanation that can wait until after dinner.” Francis butted in, resting his hands on his husband’s shoulders with enough pressure to stop the man from lunging forward if need be. 

The trapped man in question only sputtered and turned to Francis for backup, “Well then you tell him why we can’t just be running around willy nilly replacing semicolons with dashes and having commas every bloody fourth word.” Arthur gestured with open palms to his brother, who only looked mildly confused from the earlier statement. 

“What, you mean the Oxford comma?” Evidently Dylan had taken it in stride. 

Francis could feel the heat building beneath his fingertips and was quick to steer Arthur out of the living room to prevent a potential explosion, “I’m sure your rationales are very interesting but Arthur it is time to go now.” 

“But I-”

“I don’t care.” Francis interrupted, gently shoving him towards the hall. Dylan waggled his fingers in response and Arthur made a face. Honestly, it was like dealing with toddlers all over again. “Please refrain from destroying our salon any further.” He offered to the second oldest Kirkland instead, jerking his head towards the other three, still deeply embroiled in their own argument; Francis deduced it was something to do with whether Ciara had actually seen the will’o the wisps or if she was just absolutely scuttered and was just seeing streetlights. 

Dylan flashed him a thumbs up and went over to -hopefully- diffuse the situation, but Francis had already herded the non-compliant Arthur out the door. Arthur’s socks slipped on the tile, which made things marginally easier. 

One outside, Arthur whirled on him, “You didn’t have to do that you know.” He stated with crossed arms. 

“I value my curtains. They are brand new.”

The Englishman at least had the decency to look at least halfway ashamed, as it was his fault in the first place they needed to purchase new ones. “‘S not like I would have done it again.” He very pointedly looked up, to the side, anywhere that was not Francis.

“If only that were the first time I heard that. In any case, I need you to-” Francis opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by Alastair’s booming voice. 

“Hey Artie! Remember when you found that Coblynau but it was just a hackit potato?” 

“It wasn’t!-” Francis really did grab onto Arthur this time and hauled him back by his arm. 

“Leave them be cher, at this rate you’ll be at each other’s throats by dinner.”

“A little late for that.” Arthur got out between teeth that were only slightly clenched and a look back towards the living room. 

“Chut, stop your complaining chéri.” Francis chanced a quick trip to the kitchen where he retrieved even more decorations and deposited a pile of various brightly coloured streamers in his husband’s arms. “Go hang these up out front, I won’t have our foyer looking dull and drab and boring and grey.” He instructed, waving him off. 

Arthur huffed and begrudgingly retrieved the tape roll from the bureau with a mutter of, “You’re the one who wanted to paint the bloody thing grey in the first place.” Yet still retreated obediently to perform his chore. 

“Do you want me to put this back in the oven or-?” Alfred called out from the kitchen 

Francis checked his watch and inhaled sharply, less than six hours left until the town’s annual fireworks celebration and less than one hour until dinner would be ready. He loved Valentine’s Day, truly, but perhaps this was a bit too much. 

The Frenchman looked up at the grinning cherub tacked above him and nodded in solidarity. No, no this was fine. 

Like the graceful tornado that he was, Francis swept into the kitchen, whisking a pair of oven mitts from seemingly out of nowhere and making a brief pit stop to stir the gravy. “They can go in now, merci, I will take over from here.” He glanced around, vegetables peeled and ready to roast, potatoes simmering in the corner, yes this was all coming together nicely. Eyes briefly alighted on the open box of decorations and he saw the plastic heart garland trailing off the side.  
“One more thing Alfred.” He piped up to the youth who was making no show of trying to creep out of the room as quickly as possible after slamming the oven door shut. Alfred visibly winced and turned around. “Yeah?”

Francis pointed to the garland by way of explanation, “Can you hang that up on the railing?” I think that will be it for decorations then.”

“And I thought we wouldn’t have enough.” 

Trapped sticking hearts up in the hallway, Arthur laughed. 

“It is a perfectly reasonable amount!” Francis reported, indignant. 

Matthew only heard snippets of the conversation from his own menial position, but as he unfurled the last of the red napkins, he decided to chance another foray into the kitchen, counting on the apparent lack of tasks left to allow him the opportunity to retreat back up to his room and to relative safety. 

In fact, he briefly considered going completely invisible to sneak undetected upstairs, but his Papa seemed to have an innate sense of wherever he was regardless of his level of transparency so that counted that plan out. He could always go around, but that would involve a shortcut through the living room, and considering his Aunt and Uncles’ continuing argument his chances were probably better going through the kitchen anyways. 

He sauntered in the moment his Papa’s back was turned and made a quick dash towards the stairs, skidding past Alfred, who had apparently switched tasks with his father and was now sticking hearts haphazardly on the walls as the other delicately looped the plastic hearts through the spaces on the bannister. 

Alfred caught sight of him, “Yo dude, wouldn’t it be hilarious if I made a dick.”

“No xbox if you draw phallic objects on the walls.”

“Aw Dad, no fun.” Alfred was already moving the hearts around differently. 

“No female genitalia either.” 

Alfred’s protests about no one in the house not being able to take a joke were drowned out by the sudden clang of the doorbell. Matthew cast a cursory glance at the door but was already ascending the staircase. 

“Alfred can you answer that?” Arthur asked, despite the fact that Matthew was almost directly in beside him on the stairs. 

“You literally just asked me to hang these up Dad, I’m on the chair or I’m at the door, I can’t do both!” 

Matthew sighed and came back down, “I got it.” He piped up, though he wasn’t quite sure if anyone heard. 

Chances are the person at the door would either be Mrs. Smith, the crotchety old woman who made a fuss anytime the slightest modicum of noise came from the house, or likely the mailman, delivering another stack of cars or roses from one of Francis’ many clients and admirers who adored him enough to send various gifts as a thank you. Probably for the best in the latter case that Arthur wasn’t the one to answer the door, despite Francis’ reassurances that everything was strictly professional or platonic his father still had quite the jealous streak that had never quite gone away after marrying someone who dealt in relationship counselling and ran a very popular talk show on romance. 

Steeling himself for an onslaught of even more pink and white and red and sparkles, Matthew grabbed the handle, turned it. 

And was entirely unprepared for what lay on the other side. 

Matthew prided himself on the significant progress he had made when it came to his shyness, especially in contrast to how quiet he was during his elementary school days. During a particularly bad period, it had taken his family weeks in the summer to even leave the house, and another few months to get him communicating at school. In short, Matthew was the polar opposite of his much more rambunctious and outgoing twin when it came to the social spectrum, and despite many years of practice and social therapy, even now wasn’t the best at handling larger and unfamiliar social situations. He liked to consider himself a changed man though, and everyday he prided himself on having come so far. 

However, there was little his coping techniques could offer him in the way of a way out when he beheld the full skeleton that was currently standing outside his door. 

Yes, a skeleton, moldy bones and all, its spindly arm extended towards him, reaching, grasping, muddy fingers just inches away from his face. 

With nothing more than a squeak, he disappeared almost instantaneously, the door slamming shut as his corporal form phased out of existence. 

Matthew blinked, once, twice. Hardly daring to believe his own eyes. What in the fresh hell. 

In a town full of weird and wonderful powers, Matthew had grown accustomed to the strange events that dogged their town on a nearly daily basis. Whether it was unexplainable high-pitched noises, that one time Feliciano Vargas had accidentally dyed the lake bright pink, or even his own family’s proclivity for pyrotechnic presentations, weird had just become synonymous with their tiny town. 

Having dead people show up randomly at your door was a new one though. 

Alerted by the loud banging of the door, Alfred jogged over.“Matt you good?” He queried, pausing a few steps before the start of the hallway rug, conscious (for once) that his brother could very well be standing directly in front of him. 

Slowly, Matthew began to phase back into existence, “Yeah, I’m good thanks.” He piped out, only a tad bit too high. 

“Dude who the hell was at the door? Don’t tell me the mailman was that bad.” Alfred joked, attempting to peer through the frosted glass at the dusky figure behind.  
“No it wasn’t that, it was just-” The memory of the rotting skeleton outside sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. Alfred shouldered his way past and grabbed for the door handle, pivoting on his heel to stare at his brother as he wrenched the door open, no longer able to contain his curiosity. “No Alfred, wait!”

Now face-to-face with the creature, Alfred’s reaction was similar and yet completely unlike Matthew’s. 

“Holy shit there’s a dead person outside the door!” He shrieked, letting the door slam shut and scurrying behind Matthew. 

If there was one thing Alfred detested, it was any mention of anything even remotely associated with the supernatural. It was what made Halloween both one of Matthew’s most and least favourite times of the year, as despite it being absolutely hilarious to see Alfred almost constantly on edge throughout the month, and also offered a very convenient method of pranking at every conceivable opportunity, but having one’s twin insisting on never going anywhere alone or leaving the lights on meant that there was only one unfortunate recipient who had to bear the brunt of those actions. 

“Dad did you rig up some fake creepy shit again?!”

It also didn’t help when they had a parent who seemed to thrive off the dark and creepy atmosphere that was all things Halloween, and may or may not derive some sort of sick pleasure by constantly trying to terrify his entire family, especially Alfred. 

“And invoke the wrath of my husband on his special day? I think not.” Arthur commented as he made his way down the hall to investigate the noise, “What’s all this about then?”

“Matt totally summoned an evil spirit that’s trying to claim our souls!” 

Affronted, Matthew whirled around, albeit with some difficulty as Alfred’s hands firm still firmly grasping his shoulders, “I didn’t, Alfred ow, let go please, I didn’t summon it!” He protested, batting away the hands despite the kicked-puppy look on Alfred’s face, “I opened the door and it was just standing there!” 

Removed from his previous support, Alfred not-so-surreptitiously scurried behind their father, who, to his nature, seemed vaguely amused. “And what is this it we’re referring to then?” 

“A skeleton, like a whole ass skeleton just standing outside the door and waiting to drag us all down to hell.” 

“I highly doubt that.” Arthur scoffed, reaching for the handle. 

Alfred shrieked and practically sprinted down the hallway, “Don’t do it Dad! You’ll never be able to escape its grasp!” 

“Do I have some competition?” Francis piped in bemusedly, poking his head out of the kitchen, “Wait, Alfred.” He queried, attention suddenly diverted, “Are you using my hearts to make those ridiculous cat emojis on the wall?” 

“There’s literally a demon on our doorstep and you’re worried about some decorations!”

“Honestly, I don’t understand where he gets his rationalization from sometimes.” Arthur grumbled. Matthew had to nod in agreement. “Demons outside the door, please, is this the house of Doctor Faustus? Today’s already been stressful enough as is and...oh, hello.” 

The door fully opened again, it quickly became apparent that neither boys’ eyesight had deceived them, as the entire family beheld what was indeed a slightly rotting skeleton, a jumbled assortment of bones held together by some invisible force, standing casually on their front doorstep. 

“Right then, this is new.” 

“Does anyone care to explain what is happening? Arthur who’s at the doo-oh my god.” Francis had joined the fray and was now looking at the skeleton with a mixture of plain confusion and apprehension. Surprisingly, he was also the first one to regain his bearings, and soon came to note something that had escaped the others, concerned as they were with the literal dead person risen from their grave to come pay them a visit. “What’s that in his hand?”

The remaining two at the door shifted their focus to the skeleton’s right hand, which was still outstretched in that same unnatural way, but this time, Matthew noted with surprise the singular red rose whose stem intertwined throughout the bony digits. Behind them, Alfred poked his nose around the doorframe.

“A rose?” Francis continued, reaching out, “Seems like a strange form of delivery but-“

Before he could grab the proffered flower, his husband beat him to the punch and slapped his hand away, “For pity’s sake Francis don’t touch it!” Arthur snapped letting go of the handle, the door closed slightly, but caught itself on Francis, who had shouldered his way to the front. Unfazed, Arthur brought his hands together in front of his lips, as if in prayer. “This is obviously black magic and we shouldn’t let it continue to defile our home any longer. Don’t worry yourselves boys, I know just the spell to fix this.” 

Francis balked, the door opening wider as he stepped back to face his husband. Matthew shuffled into the middle of the hallway to avoid being stepped on. “Absolutely not! I thought I told you that your black magic experiments are only for your magic club.”

“Yes, well I’d say this situation is a little different and is thus requiring of some stronger spells.”

“Or you could just ask it to leave? Isn’t that what you said was written in your fancy book of spirits? That asking them is the easiest way to actually get them to do things?”

Arthur’s retort on how dealing with spirits required much finer mechanics than what Francis was insinuating, and how like was obviously a form of necromantic animation that when beyond just a simple wisp or pixie was cut off by the skeleton boldly pushing its way between the two quarrelling adults and stepping right in Matthew’s direction. Both parents made sounds of surprise as they were brushed to the side with the strength that was definitely unexpected for something that looked as if it would fall apart any minute, but their shock was nothing in comparison to their son’s, who stared at the skeleton as it stepped in front of him before it stopped, unmoving, once again offering the rose curled around its closed fist.

Matthew glanced at his fathers for support, “Um, am I supposed to take this?”

His curiosity overpowering his fear for the time-being, Alfred had slowly made his way further up the hallway, eyeing the skeleton warily, “Dude, that’s not a good idea.” He answered, inching nearer, “It’s probably got some sort of curse on it and you’re going to turn into some sort of possessed supervillain like June Moone.” He leaned closer, trying to poke the rose, “What happens if it does- FUCK.”

As Alfred’s finger nearly brushed one of the petals, the skull suddenly snapped to the left to stare? At him with its soulless gaze. Alfred viscerally jumped back, his hands flying up near his ears, “That is so not cool!”

A sudden emerald light shot up from behind the skeleton, interspersed with a collection of runes. “There doesn’t seem to be any negative energy coming off it.” Arthur commented, flicking the swirling figures into his left palm and studying them intently, “Though there’s definitely something behind this all.”

Matthew was getting a little exasperated by the whole situation, frankly, he was surprised no one else had heard the commotion and decided to investigate. “So am I going to take this or am I getting cursed for all eternity?” He asked, gesturing in front of him.

The skeleton seemed to make his decision for him however, taking advantage of Matthew’s slightly open palm and depositing the rose square in the centre, the twisted stem uncurling itself from the bone with an unnatural fluidity and instead entwining itself around a crumpled slip of paper, previously hidden from view. In a split second, both flower and parchment was pressed into Matthew’s hand, leaving an unpleasant cold and dry sensation tingling on his skin. Matthew made a soft -oh sound from the back of his throat, too taken off guard to do anything else, while his family made similar noises of surprise. 

Quickly as it had arrived, the skeleton turned and ambled back the way it had entered, everyone’s eyes trained on the bony ridges of the spine as it crossed the threshold. Safely across, the skeleton almost seemed to vibrate from within, brittle bones making dull cracking noises as it began to jerk violently, dirt and other debris sloughing off. Within seconds, it began to crumple in on itself; first a few ribs, then the feet, then the legs. The skull remained hovering in the air a few seconds longer than was natural, turning almost 180 degrees, jaw working soundlessly as the teeth began to fall like chips of ivory. A molar pinged off the pile and slid across the tile floor, Matthew watched its path. Two more seconds and the bones disintegrated into nothing more than ashen dust, scattering to nothing in the faint breeze. A beat of silence passed. 

“Wow. That was….weird.” 

“Yes Alfred, I think weird perfectly encapsulates this.” Arthur echoed, still staring in the general direction of where the dust had vanished. 

Matthew, still looking at the tooth, looked out the door, then back down. It had disappeared. 

It took another moment, but Francis let the door fall shut and turned to face his son, “What did it give you?” He asked, drawing Matthew’s attention back to the strange gift.  
With bright red petals that seemed to blossom almost symmetrically, the rose certainly didn’t look like an embodiment of evil. There weren’t even any thorns attached to the stem to suggest some nefarious purpose. Then there was the whole matter of the paper. From what he could see, there were some dark stains that betrayed something written on the other side. “I think there’s a message on here.” 

Arthur stepped forward and poked him on the forehead. Matthew had to suppress a shiver as he felt a bolt of energy rush through him. “Doesn’t seem to have any adverse effects.” His father concluded after a moment. Francis was quick to rush in. 

“Arthur! Stop poking our children with that faerie magic.”

“Well excuse me if I wanted to make sure Matthew was alright.”

“What’s written on it?” Alfred asked, still a little spooked by their visitor but now much more excited by the prospect of some secret message. 

Surprisingly, their fathers’ disagreement didn’t morph into a full fledged argument, as instead both men turned to face their sons, inquisitiveness written over both their faces, even on Arthur’s despite his attempts to conceal it behind a mask of indifference. 

Matthew studied the ball, turning both it and the rose over. He reached out to brush the soft petals and was shocked as the rose once again began to move, retracting its grip on the paper, he quickly grabbed the stem with his right hand as the stem shrunk down to a normal size and nearly rolled off his palm. 

“Here, I have a vase!” Francis, prompting a muttered ‘of course you do’, which Arthur would wholeheartedly deny ever saying if it were brought up later on as leverage when Francis wanted him to do something. 

“Thanks Papa.” 

Rose safely on the bureau, Matthew examined the paper, expecting any sort of curse, or spell, or strange magic to fly out and destroy him. Though considering the strange and unexpected nature of the skeleton, Matthew definitely wasn’t surprised at the fact that the paper’s contents were equally as perplexing. He carefully uncrumpled the ball, steeling himself, only for it to reveal a slightly scribbled drawing of a copious amount of yellow birds who were circling two crudely drawn stick figures, one of whom looked...sort of like him if the curl and glasses were anything to go by, but the second figure was unfinished to the point of obscurity. Matthew squinted at the drawing, but before he could decipher its meaning, Alfred swooped in to steal the show. 

“Matt I think the skeleton likes you.” He teased, snatching the note. Matthew reached for it but his brother just danced away, cackling. 

“Alfred what the hell are you talking about.” 

“Dude.” He held the drawing up at eye-level, “Whoever drew this has a serious crush, you’re literally surrounded by hearts.” He jabbed at the paper, flashing it quickly to his parents to further convey the message.

Matthew squinted, so there were, a handful of hastily scribbled hearts. He had missed them the first time, too fixated on the yellow birds. 

Francis, on the other hand, was ecstatic, surprisingly unperturbed by the literal embodiment of death that had just been standing on his doorstep. “Matthieu you have an admirer!” He exclaimed, clapping twice.

“Wait, what-”

““I’ll admit their methods are a tad unorthodox, but who doesn’t like a bit of extraneity to spice things up every once in a while? I think it’s very romantique, what about you Arthur?”

All talk of love seemed to be the catalyst for Arthur’s attention span, calmed now that the threat seemed to be nullified, and he was quick to excuse himself from the conversation, “Frankly I think there’s been far too much strangeness in this household for a holiday six months from Halloween,” Turning to his son, “This is your father’s realm of expertise, I’ll defer to him on the matter.” 

“I’m really not sure-”

Francis tutted, “You are no fun. Our son has received a declaration of love and that is the best you can do?”

“Love? Papa I don’t think-”

“Our son received a visit from the grave that seems to have something to do with your favourite day.” Arthur deadpanned, already halfway down the hall. He paused, “Do you smell smoke?”

“The dinner!” 

Their Papa brought his hands to his forehead in dismay, and wasted no time darting towards his potentially smouldering meal.He took two steps, then spun on his heel to address his sons, finger pointed, “This is not the end of this conversation mes petits, we are going to uncover the identity of this secret paramour tout de suite. Arthur, get the hot plates!” He yelled the final sentence and jogged into the kitchen, leaving the twins staring at the now empty hallway. A few moments of silence passed. 

“Well that was fun.” Alfred looked around the foyer, bobbing his head slightly.

Matthew took advantage of the lapse to snatch the paper from Alfred’s hand. The other made a face.

“I guess that’s one way to put it.” 

Matthew turned the scrap over in his hands, trying to comprehend what had just transpired in the past six-and-a-half minutes and lamenting his luck in life that just had to dictate some creepy spectre showing up at his door. Truthfully, he didn’t quite know what to make of it all, perhaps he was in a state of shock. It wasn’t as if he was completely inept when it came to romance -his previous relationship with Lars was enough of a testament to that- but this was just plain bizarre. The dead rising to act as messengers wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence despite a town full of folk with special abilities, but it wasn’t quite out of the realm of possibilities either for much the same reason. It was now more a question of who would go to such lengths to send something without even as much as a name.

“Matt, you don’t think that thing has any delayed evil energy do you?” Alfred gestured only slightly nervously to the rose. 

“No, Dad is pretty good with these things.” He was only half-listening, lips pursued in thought. “Though who do we know who has access to-”

Placated with the response on already onto other things, his musings were interrupted, “That sucks then bro, your valentine just fucking died.”

Matthew didn’t even know how to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to extend a thank you to anyone who has clicked on this thusfar. I've been in this fandom since 2013, but this is the first time I've actually gussied up enough to actually post something. I hope this is the first in a long line of fics, some of which that have been mulling about in my mind for the past 7 years, but I'm also extremely happy to see this fandom still alive and kicking after all these years, old and new fans alike, you all are the best. ^-^


	3. Chapter 3

Gilbert Beilschmidt liked to believe that his morning routine was relatively normal in comparison to others - or perhaps normal by the standards of his family, who had a tendency to wake at the crack of dawn and start moving before most of the world -, even he couldn’t disguise the truth that on this day in particular, he was much more jittery than normal. 

Gilbert quickly decided that feeling jittery was most decidedly unawesome, especially as he made another circuit of his room for the umpteenth time, despite not knowing exactly what he was looking for, or why he was walking around in the first place. 

This whole debacle had begun a few short hours earlier. In the early hours of the morning, scrolling through his phone and laughing (read: periodically lightly exhaling) at an impressive collection of memes, Gilbert had come to a realization. One, that he needed to call Alfred and Mathias and set up a date where they could build quadrant five of their replica town project in Minecraft, and two, that the normal doses of all-encompassing Internet loneliness were much stronger than usual (a difficult feat). 

A second of glancing at the pull-down menu had prompted a third realization - people were whinging and self-deprecating and crying about their loneliness because it was February 14th. Valentine’s Day. 

Awesome. 

Truth be told, Gilbert didn’t hate Valentine’s Day, he just didn’t particularly like the mountain of hearts you could never escape, and the overabundance of clingy couples that booked up all the restaurants and walked everywhere gazing into each others’ eyes which was quite dangerous when you’re one foot away from the street and a car driven by someone who most definitely wasn’t in the mood for romance. 

(Also last year, after watching a freshman couple make out in front of his locker for five minutes before he finally stomped over and put an end to that, Gilbert’s patience had been worn very thin.) 

However, all of those realizations were made moot by the fourth and final realization that crashed over him at ass o’clock in the morning, and this was final in the sense that he may or may not have preferred being dead before he had to face it - he was going to have to actually ask someone out on Valentine’s Day. 

Gilbert had a bit of an issue with making decisions that future Gilbert didn’t appreciate in the slightest. Normally, this was harmless enough: “I’ll do that 2000 word essay tomorrow”, “This shirt isn’t that dirty, I don’t need to do laundry until Friday.”, “I can totally binge this whole 12-episode season in one sitting even though it’s currently 11pm on a school night.”. Those kinds of things. Usually, he was good and stubborn enough to stick to his choices -he’d be damned if his Vati walked in on his room looking like a tornado again, he was only 6 at the time but that was a lesson he didn’t care to repeat-, but sometimes he set goals that were a little too...ambitious, even for future Gilbert.

Such as his current dilemma, which had had him sleeping fitfully for the better part of the past few hours and was now the reason why he was wearing holes in his carpet. 

To put it bluntly, Gilbert had a bit of a crush, even if he wasn’t quite ‘man-enough’ yet to fully admit it to himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like this, but it was the first time that his usual disposition of being loud and abrasive and forthright just didn’t seem like the right choice when it came to this person. They weren’t loud, so Gilbert being loud may just scare them away (he didn’t seem to realize that his boisterous nature hadn’t done anything to dissuade this person, Gilbert wasn’t exactly rational when it came to matters of the heart), and even worse, he was actually, truly concerned that coming on too strong would destroy the friendship they had cultivated over the past seven months. 

Gilbert was also not a fan of clichés. The issue was that the person he was head-over-heels for was someone whose father just so happened to exude an affinity for romance and hearts and all that lovey-dovey shit that normally made Gilbert feel a bit queasy, so it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that his intended target would probably go weak in the knees at such a cliché appropriate confession for the holiday. 

It had all culminated in the mess that was his life, and the promise he had made to himself almost two weeks earlier: he was going to ask Matthew Kirkland-Bonnefoy out on a date, and he was going to do it on Valentine’s day because Matt would go gaga over that shit and Gilbert was 116% sure he wouldn’t be able to take sitting next to the cute blond in Calculus for much longer if he didn’t get these...feelings off his chest as soon as possible. 

Past Gilbert always had a way of making things difficult for his future self. 

There was a faint chirp above his head and he looked up to see a familiar yellow bird bobbing excitedly around the ceiling, as if mirroring his circular path. “Gilbird!” He whistled, “Handgelenk.”

Another ‘piyo’ from above, and the cheerful canary landed on his outstretched arm. 

“This is a good idea right?” He queried, scratching the little bird’s head with a blunt finger. A chirp. “Yeah that’s what I was thinking too, totally uncool to chicken out now, besides, I’m a great catch.”

Gilbird ruffled his feathers in contentment and took off, coasting to a stop on his perch on top of Gilbert’s desk, leaving him to momentarily think about how much easier life would be if he were a bird and didn’t have any responsibilities. Just flapping around, chomping about on trail mix, no worries about the very real chance that your crush would say ‘no’ and you’d be forced to sit next to them for the remainder of the year in an awkward reminder of your failings. 

It was the life, really. 

Gilbert gave his pity party a few more moments before groaning and moving to straighten up the notebooks he had left out last night. Asking people out wasn’t difficult. In his opinion, beating around the bush had never done him any favours and he much preferred letting his thoughts be known where they counted, no plans or goals or self-imposed sulks required. The truth was, he liked Matt just a bit (okay a lot) more than a friend and their camaraderie had only grown over the past year so there was no need for awkwardness between them, he just needed to come out and say it. Then again, for all his planning about when to do it and how to act and make sure things didn’t go south, he hadn’t really thought of what to say, but that would definitely come when the time was right...right?

He groaned again and started to get ready. If he spent maybe more than a few minutes making sure his hair lay a certain way and went back to change his outfit no less than three times then he certainly wasn’t about to admit that to anyone anytime soon. It was bad enough Roderich caught him preening in the mirror that one time, but he didn’t care enough about what good ol’ uptight Roddy thought about anything, so maybe it didn’t matter after all. 

In any case, the couple of extra minutes didn’t seem to raise any suspicion upstairs, and by the time Gilbert had climbed the stairs and made his way into the kitchen, three of the house’s current five occupants were seated at the table, already in conversation. 

“Morning losers, what’s going on?” 

Gilbert sauntered jauntily into the room and quickly busied himself with preparing a gourmet bowl of cereal. 

It was Roderich who spoke first, his cousin, older by one year and unbearable when he got it in his head that that year meant he was the one in charge. “Lovely of you to grace us with your presence Gilbert.” He deadpanned, face conveying quite the opposite. Gilbert made a bit more noise than was necessary as he fished around the cutlery drawer for a spoon. 

“You’re welcome, I take donations in cash.” 

Across from Roderich, Gilbert’s younger brother Ludwig made a face of disapproval that looked so much like their Vati’s Gilbert sometimes didn’t know whether to be proud or concerned. “Elizaveta made pancakes.” His brother settled on, poking at said example. 

“Elizaveta made pancakes for anyone willing to acknowledge that Mariokart is only a video game and that whether or not you win isn’t a matter of your family’s honour.”

“It is if you’re not a coward.” Gilbert scowled at the fourth person in the room, otherwise known as Elizaveta, Eliza or Liz for short, Roderich’s girlfriend and Gilbert’s long-standing arch-nemesis/treasured childhood friend. 

Gilbert wasn’t too enthused by the presence of the two of them. Scratch that, he was cool with Liz, she was fun to piss off and gave as good as she got and he was a bit sad when she went off to university last September, Roderich on the other hand was everything prim and proper that Gilbert loved to wheedle (the cousins didn’t get along sometimes). Roderich wasn’t from their town and lived a few hours away, which is why the situation was made all the stranger when he went away to the college in the city and came back dating Liz, someone who Gilbert had grown up and was quite fed up with when she informed him of the development and that they were both coming to visit Casa Beilschmidt over reading week. Honestly, what were the chances?

Nevertheless, he snagged a pancake from the top of the snack and settled with his bowl into the open seat beside his brother, flashing a self-satisfied grin that was returned with looks of exasperation from the other occupants of the table. “You look like you’re going to the Arctic.” He noted duly, motioning with his stolen good to the (frankly ugly) patterned sweater his cousin had on. 

“It’s called being prepared for the weather. Maybe you should try it so you don’t freeze to death.”  
“Lud can you shock him for me?” 

Ludwig fixed Gilbert with a glare of dull antipathy, “Gilbert I don’t shock people on purpose.” 

“Liar, you do it to me all the time.”

“And I’ll do it again if you keep asking.” 

Gilbert laughed and patted the younger on the head with only mild hesitation, not wanting to replicate the times his brother had abused his own electrical powers and literally shocked the ever-loving hell out of him on more than one occasion. 

“I’m the one who told him to wear it.” Liz piped up, blowing on the steaming mug of coffee in front of her. Gilbert mouthed ‘gross’ and she rolled her eyes, “I was planning on showing Roderich around town before we go to the festival and it gets cold.” 

Roderich looked smug. “I’m still surprised that Mr. Bonnefoy was able to convince the city council that an annual fireworks show in the middle of February was a good idea, even more so that people actually look forward to it.”

“I can.” 

Aldrich Beilschmidt had finally made it to central station, looking as cross as ever, but then again, that was just his usual face. Gilbert got out a garbled ‘Morgen Vati’ as the others greeted him similarly, though the subsequent ‘don’t talk with your mouth full’ was all for his oldest son, who only rolled his eyes. 

“Francis Kirkland-Bonnefoy is very persuasive when he wants to be. Comes from being an empath.”

“His sister was arrested for tax fraud!” Gilbert piped up, always a fan of that story. Besides, he would always look fondly upon that one time he had met Matt’s Aunt Lucille when she stayed for a few weeks two Summers ago, if not just because she taught him more than two dozen ways to cheat at card games. 

His family didn’t need to know about that one though, he was enjoying his two-year unbeaten Euchre streak too much to admit his secrets now. 

Ludwig looked a bit put-out by Gilbert’s enthusiasm for another’s crime hijinks.

“Mr. Bonnefoy hosts that talk show in the city right? That Love Goals thing?” 

“I should try to find him this evening.” Eliza looked both inquisitive and excited, never a good combination. “Maybe ask him for a few tips.”

Gilbert burst out in guffaws and nearly showered his cousin in a rain of half-chewed Cheerios, but Roderich’s disgruntled expression only made him laugh harder. “Trouble in paradise?” He ribbed drumming his fingers against the table in delight. “Don’t worry Roddy, I’ll call in a favour with Matt to get his old man over here and you guys can have a proper sit down to...discuss things.” 

It was worth the smack to the back of the head he received from his father, who was coming around the table with his coffee at that point, just to see Roderich look so perfectly scandalized he tried his best to capture the expression for future amusement. He half expected Elizaveta to follow the comment up with a witty retort of her own, but upon further inspection she only looked inquisitive and the narrowing of her eyes suggested she had latched onto a particular thought with urgency.

“Is this the same Matt from Chemistry?” The eyebrow wiggle that accompanied sent all of his good cheer spiralling down the drain as he frowned best he could through a spoonful of cheerios. 

“Might be.” 

Gilbert could feel the blush creeping into his cheeks as he cursed the albinism that made him so easy to read. Matthew from Chemistry indeed, Matthew from the chemistry class where Gilbert had to regularly fight to stay awake and had resorted to doodling a few incriminating things that may or may not have featured him and his ‘friend’ in a way that was better suited to a lovestruck little girl, incriminating things that Eliza had gotten an eyeful of when she rummaged through his things last Christmas.

Honestly, who even snooped in someone’s desk while they were busy upstairs stuffing their face with sweets? Nevermind that he had done the same thing the last time they visited Eliza’s dorm (and hadn’t even found one incriminating condom to embarrass Roderich with, disappointing), but this was different. 

Nevertheless, his annoyance didn’t negate the fact that Eliza was painfully aware of his ‘more than friends’ feelings towards Matthew, and that she was looking way too self-satisfied for Gilbert’s liking.

“Gilbert and Matthew were lab partners last semester.” Ludwig interjected, chewing with a nonchalant expression on his face, “He came around a lot to work on their reports.”

“Did he now.” Oh how he hated that smirk. “Maybe you can introduce me to your friend too Gil.” 

Gilbert fought the urge to go leaping across the table and instead hastily swallowed his cereal and mustered a smile-cum-grimace that showed way too much teeth. Introduce Matt to Eliza, ridiculous. He was pretty sure she at least knew who Matthew was - as Chief of the Fire Brigade her mother had spent more than a fair share of time putting out the frequent blazes that occurred at the Kirkland-Bonnefoy house, they even sent each other Christmas cards for heaven’s sake. What’s more, the chances of Eliza not having seen him in the halls at some point in the three years their education had overlapped was next to none, though then again, Matt did have a penchant for disappearing into the walls. He told Eliza as much, leaving the last part out, and her grin only grew wider. 

“Never met him personally though, sounds like a nice kid too, especially if he puts up with you.”

Gilbert stuck his tongue out at her and Eliza only laughed. 

*******

At few hours later, Gilbert was still at a loss for how exactly we was supposed to confess his feelings, list only having been slightly whittled down:

1\. Nothing loud, don’t want to embarrass him or yourself  
2\. Just talk to him - bring gift????  
3\. Don’t fuck it up

Okay, his list sucked. 

“Don’t hurt yourself by thinking too hard.” 

Gilbert jolted and nearly dropped the books he was holding. In the doorway to the living room stood Liz, leaning nonchalantly against the frame with her arms crossed, “Oh, it’s just you.” He shot back, banging the books on the table to straighten them out before crossing the room to return them to the shelf. “What do you want.”

“Oh you know, wanted to check in, see how the cleaning was going.” The handwave communicated that she didn’t care about the state of the living room in the slightest. 

“Bullshit, you just want to make sure I don’t put air horns in the cushions again.”

Therein lay the reason why he was cleaning in the first place, seeing as no one save him (and probably Liz too, if her quickly hidden grin was anything to go by) had been too amused by the contraption he had rigged last night and used to scare the pants off everyone. 

Proving his point, she laughed and pushed herself off the doorframe, “Maybe so, but I actually wanted to talk about your ‘friend’.” The air quotes were painfully obvious. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He snapped back, and pushed his way past her into the hallway, “I’m heading out for a bit.” 

“To go talk to Birdie?” Gilbert balked, eyebrows shooting up past his hairline. “Oh don’t give me that face Gil, I know your phone password.” 

“I don’t remember giving it to you.” 

Liz just shrugged which was all the explanation Gilbert was going to get, he wasn’t as angry at that as he probably should have been, probably because-

“I have my fingerprint saved on Roderich’s phone too.” 

Now that was a piece of information Gilbert was going to come back to (frequently) at a later date. “Noted, so what *do* you want?” He asked, narrowing his eyes as he crossed his arms defensively. 

He scrutinized Liz’s face and was not pleased with the conclusions he found there. It was obvious that she wanted to interrogate him more about Matthew, which honestly wasn’t a surprise considering how long he had managed to dance around the issue, yet once Eliza got an idea in her head there was no stopping her, no exceptions. 

“You’re going to say something to him today aren’t you?” Damn, he should have expected that one. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Oh please.” Now it was Liz’s turn to roll her eyes, “I can tell when you’re texting him, you get this stupid smitten look on your face, it’s kind of adorable really.” Gilbert opened his mouth to deliver a retort that he was way too rugged to be adorable but she kept on going, “You better say yes, I’ve only been here two days and you’re already making me sick, think of how Ludwig must be feeling.” 

Ludwig had once read a self-help book because he wanted to get along better with Feliciano instead of, I don’t know, actually talking to the spunky Italian first. Gilbert doubted Ludwig knew anything (or maybe it was hoped, anything romance constituted a level of awkward conversation that he wasn’t quite ready to attain with his brother). “If he’s feeling anything it's because of you and Rod, you have no idea how weird it is that the two of you are actually together.” 

“I think you’re the only one weirded out by this.” 

“It’s a weird coincidence.” 

A few slow steps had the both of them at the end of the hallway. Eliza was next to the table they used to throw their keys and other miscellaneous pocket items, but today instead of pocket change the table was covered in a stack of carmine roses, each individually wrapped in crinkly plastic to keep out the worst of the cold and destined for each of Liz’s friends that she had plans to visit during her and Roderich’s stroll around town. Gilbert didn’t really understand the appeal of the whole friend gift-giving thing; there was that one year where Matthias had given him a cupcake for Valentine’s Day, though maybe he shouldn’t count that - he did steal it from the other student’s lunch but Matthias was planning on sharing it anyways so…?

“Here.” She picked up one of the roses from the pile, encased in a protective plastic covering to ward off the cold. “A little token, very romantic.” 

“One rose? That’s kinda lame.” 

“I thought you weren’t going to give it to anyone.”

Gilbert scowled and snatched the offending flower, “I’m not, just stating the obvious.” 

“I wouldn’t say so, I think that one rose is cute don’t you? Very...personalized.” 

Even now, her eyes were shining like every other time she got some romantic idealization in her head and Gilbert decided to put a stop to this conversation before any other embarrassing memories could be dredged up on either side - he didn’t much fancy getting chased out of the house. 

“Yeah okay, you keep thinking that.” Gilbert said with a wave of his hand, “I’ll catch up with you guys later.” 

He bustled off down the hall and busied himself with pulling on his coat and boots, setting the rose down on the steps and steadfastly ignoring its presence until he had double-checked that he still had his phone in his back pocket and was finally forced to deal with it. His hand hovered once, twice, before he grabbed the fragile flower with a grumble and stalked towards the door, also ignoring the knowing smile that danced around Eliza’s lips. 

A second after he opened the door, Liz called his name and he turned around. “I forgot to mention, maybe you shouldn’t leave these lying around, anyone could find them.” 

She pushed a scrap of paper into his pocket, winked, and turned back to the kitchen. “Good luck!” She called back, and Gilbert knew she meant it, as much as he didn’t want to admit it - there was a reason they had been friends since childhood. 

But back to the puzzle at hand. Gilbert’s brow furrowed in confusion and he unfolded it. A stupid little doodle of two stick figures and a dozen little Gilbirds greeted him and he cursed. 

“Oh you’ve been in my stuff again you little-”

He was going to kill Eliza one of these days, if she didn’t crack him over the head first. 

****************  
Muttering angrily to himself and directing all of those feelings at his friend who apparently didn’t know that ‘private’ wasn’t German for ‘please take a look and embarrass me while you’re at it’, Gilbert meandered his way through the trail that ran behind their house, feet taking him on a familiar path towards the town cemetery which deserted at this time of day but still bright with layers of freshly fallen snow from the night before. He felt a little stupid and sappy touting the rose, but thankfully the cooler temperatures and the upcoming evening reveleries had served to keep most people inside, and he encountered no one during his walk. He kicked at a few errant ice chunks and sent them spiraling into the deep snow beside the path as he came up over the small incline that marked the south entrance to the cemetery. 

Gilbert liked the graveyard, the quiet made him feel calmer when he was stressed and the fact that he could technically call forth an army of the dead on a whim when he was really stressed and pissed off was always a nice reminder that he could crush any of his enemies whenever he wanted. 

This enemy wasn’t of the physical kind though, and unfortunately couldn’t be solved by a few well-placed skeletons hovering menacingly in the window. (Take that Roderich, you fucking asshole, that’ll teach you to eat my leftovers).

Morose, Gilbert dropped the rose onto a dry spot on top of one of the crypts, trusting the plastic to keep it insulated for the time being. After a moment of fiddling, he dropped the corny little doodle beside it and brushed a dry space off the adjacent crypt before jumping up on it. 

Now what? He had wanted to say something during the firework show, but he wasn’t sure he would be heard over the noise and, even if he was, they would be surrounded by far too many friends and family for him to be comfortable with. God forbid Alfred was anywhere near them when Gilbert let loose his little spiel, the two were friends but Gilbert had seen firsthand how...intense Alfred could get when it came to protecting his ‘little’ brother (by three minutes, Matt hated that). 

“Can someone else just do this for me?” Even the second the plea left his lips Gilbert knew how stupid he sounded, airing his grievances to a crowd of people who couldn’t even hear them. 

Maybe a better idea would be just to go over to Matt’s house and ask him on a walk like Roderich and Liz were probably doing right now. That was a good plan right? Except that he couldn’t guarantee Alfred wouldn’t insist on accompanying them out and Matt had mentioned he had family visiting so it would be rude to pull him away, probably suspicious too, and Gilbert was freaked out enough by Matthew’s sorcerer/liable to burst into flames at any moment Dad as it was. 

A buzz from his pocket interrupted his melancholy thoughts and he fished out his phone, rubbing his hands together to ward off the cold stiffness that had set in. Speak of the devil...

[Sent from: Birdie] [11:31am]: might need to call Elizaveta’s mom again, dad’s literally smoking at the ears

He laughed, positive jitters now, and typed back a quick reply. 

[11:32am] any1 on fire?

[Sent from: Birdie] [11:32am]: not yet  
[Sent from: Birdie] [11:32am]: but they’re throwing the appetizers 

[11:32]: extra char flavour? 🔥

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, seconds away from asking Matt to come and join him. 

[Sent from: Birdie] [11:33]: lol i wish - gotta help in the kitchen, brb

That answered that then. The fluttering in his chest only served to make him more anxious and he leaned back fully, letting the headstone support his weight. He really really didn’t want to cock this up and the more he thought about things the more he felt like he was going to do just that. ‘Come meet me in the cemetery at high noon’. Really? How romantic of you Gilbert.

It took him a few more minutes to work things out, too engrossed in his thoughts to notice the strange scratching sound a few feet away. All things considered, it was probably the best course of action to say something at tonight’s fireworks, at least that way there might be a chance for the two of them to get a moment alone, and if things didn’t work out then there wouldn’t be anything keeping them from fleeing home. He wasn’t about to chicken out though, the confession had been on his mind for weeks and he owed it to Matt to at least say something (and hoped to God that he hadn't misinterpreted the signs). 

A couple more minutes before he sighed and jumped off the stone, giving it a short pat in thanks for being his seat for the past 13 minutes. He should probably be heading back anyways, his head felt a bit clearer with the resolve to do something later and the little rose probably wouldn’t appreciate being out in the cold much longer. He adjusted his hat-

Gilbert stopped dead in his tracks. There, in the ground, was a hole, a hole that had not been there 14 minutes ago, and one that looked very very recently dug. 

Trepidation and exasperation flooding his veins (Vati was going to give him so much shit for ‘disturbing the natural balance between life and death’), Gilbert slowly looked up and resigned himself to his fate the moment he caught sight of the ghastly pale white figure loping down the pathway. “Scheiße.” 

(“People don’t like it when you raise their family members’ corpses from the dead to prank your cousin Gilbert, Mrs. Johnson is threatening to sue us if we don’t put her husband back in the ground Gilbert, you’re grounded for a month give me your phone Gilbert.”)

He leaned down slightly and nodded his head in approval when he made out the faded engraving on the stone. Died 1857, probably no one around who would be too mad at him for this one. 

Even still, there went the rest of his afternoon, staggering into the adjacent woods and taking his carefully thought-out plans with it. Perhaps this was a message from the universe. 

He stiffened, the rose and note were gone. 

Strong feelings, desire to have someone else do the work for you, proximity to a graveyard and bodies who will listen to you because you’re the only one who can communicate with them. 

It all settled on one conclusion, one that he was definitely not okay with and hadn’t planned for in the slightest. 

“Fuck my life.” 

He took off running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is asking someone out on Valentine’s Day kinda cliche? Yes. Do I care? No. 
> 
> To provide a bit of context for anyone who was interested as I wasn’t sure how to integrate this into the story - Gilbert is a necromancer because of an unfortunate brush with a warlock when he was a child. In his younger days, Gilbert looked a lot like how Ludwig does but just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; while playing in the park, a warlock opened up a portal to the spirit world and he fell in (not exactly sure how, never fleshed that out). Caught between the worlds of the living and the dead, he experienced a change in appearance that rendered him albino and whatever ability he had before was absorbed into a newer power - necromancy. 
> 
> Ludwig can conduct electrical currents, Elizaveta can manipulate any type of metal, and Roderich can manipulate soundwaves at a whim.


	4. Chapter 4

It was both to his absolute shock and pleasant surprise that mealtime at the house had passed without relative incident. Sure, Dad had been throwing glares down the length of the table every 20 seconds and Uncle Sean looked just a bit frazzled from having been on the bottom of the dogpile that had happened sometime after the first round of fisticuffs had broken out, but everyone was still in good spirits and no one had lunged across the table or spontaneously combusted so Matthew considered things to be progressing nicely in that regard. 

However, it was the resigned knowledge of exactly why the conversation hadn’t turned completely sour that had him currently slumped in his seat, picking at the trifle in front of him in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact with any and everyone around him. 

“Would ya look at that, the wee barra is blushing!” Uncle Alastair crowed from the end of the table, “So who’s the lucky burd then? Or laddie, we don’t judge.” He tacked on, sending a meaningful glance toward Arthur, who made a face in return. 

Matthew could feel the tips of his ears flush a dark red and continued to push his piece of broccoli in a circuit around his plate. Of course, the main reason lunch had been going so smoothly centered on one fact, one that he was neither excited nor grateful for, and was in fact the same reason as to why he was almost shamelessly assessing the possibility of an escape route. 

“Like I said, I don’t know who sent me that, wasn’t like there was a tag or something.” He muttered for what felt like the umpteenth time since Alfred and his big mouth had decided that privacy was something that came in 10-second intervals only and had thus almost immediately rushed to the living room to inform the rest of their company exactly what had transpired with Matthew’s ‘secret admirer’. 

Terrifying figure seemingly banished, Alfred hadn’t even waited for the snow to melt in the hallway before he went running into the living room and informed the remaining family members of what had just transpired. Uncle Alastair, of course, had found the entire thing absolutely hilarious and made sure the entire street knew of his enjoyment of the situation by guffawing to the high heavens and roaring about his nephew’s ‘secret admirer’. Uncle Sean and Aunt Ciara weren’t much better, jostling each other as they bolted into the front hall to look at his unexpected gift and tease him good-naturedly about the identity of this admirer. Even Uncle Dylan, who Matthew had hoped would be a bit less invested in everything, had clapped him on the back and asked him what he was planning on wearing to the fireworks show. As if anyone would see it under a coat and layer of scarves and mittens. 

Almost an entire awkward question-filled meal later and Alfred was now first on Matthew’s hit list, followed by the rest of his family, who seemed bound and determined on seeing who could get him to turn redder and spontaneously combust.  
(Although, that could also be because Uncle Sean was still trying to prove that either of the Kirkland-Bonnefoy boys could somehow miraculously manifest their parents abilities, despite the fact that none of them, save Alfred and Matthew, were technically related by blood. For now, Matthew was content with his inability to randomly explode).

“Surely you have to have some idea though? Anyone getting chummy in class? Longing looks sent your way?” Uncle Dylan asked, mid-chew. Dad muttered something about poor table manners. 

Now that he thought about it, his Dad was probably just glaring because he knew about as much as Matthew did when it came to the events of this morning, though Uncle Dylan’s not-so-subtle attempts at periodically kicking him under the table probably had a lot to do with it as well, or perhaps it was because Uncle Sean kept extinguishing and relighting the candles at random. 

Matthew sighed and scratched at his forehead, the rest of his head tilting to shelter itself in the safety of his arm. He wondered, not for the first time, how rude it would be to just disappear right now and stay that way until everyone had gone home and left him alone. 

“Who would you want it to be though? Anyone you fancy?” Aunt Ciara butt in, brandishing her fork, “Theoretically of course.”

It was a trap and Matthew knew it, “Of course not.” 

Of course, there was a certain brash, more than vaguely egotistical, previous semester Chemistry lab partner of a someone that came to mind, but Matthew sure as hell wasn’t going to be admitting that to his entire family. 

“Lack of eye contact and playing with his hair, he’s lying!” Alfred announced from beside him, Matthew turned and flicked his arm. “Don’t deny it, I know how to tell.” 

“Where did you learn that?” Papa questioned, looking mildly concerned. 

“Psych class, Miss Arlovskaya taught us how to read people. Papa, you’re really bad at tucking your hair behind your ear whenever you’re lying.”

“So that’s how you found out about your birthday present, you little-” 

“Alright fess up lad, who’re ya pinin’ after?” Uncle Alastair interjected. “We’ll go over your yearbook if we havta.” 

Matthew caught sight of his reflection in one of the polished silver candlesticks adorning the table and honestly hadn’t known he could turn that shade of red. This sucked and he was beginning to understand why Dad kept grumbling about the numerous ways in which his siblings had wronged him in the past, if it was anything like this...Matthew was glad he didn’t have to live with them. 

“Come on Matt I wanna know!” Alfred whined, even as he reached across the table to snag another roll, “Who do you hang out with? Is it someone on the hockey team? Tim, Emma, Tino? You might have to fight Berwald for him though, that guy kinda gives me the creeps, strong silent type you know?” He offered by way of explanation to the questioning looks he was getting, Matthew slouched down further. “You keep hanging out in the tech hall so who like Eduard, Carlos, Gilbert? It’s not *Lovino* is it? 

This was getting too close for comfort, Matthew sighed and willed himself into invisibility.

“What no way, is it Lovino? That’s weird dude, he tried to punch me the other day.” 

Matthew groaned and popped back, “It’s not Lovino Al, and he punched you because you almost slashed his tires when you threw that screwdriver.”

“It was an accident! Plus I don’t think we’re allowed to bring our own cars into the shop, against school policy or something.” 

“Alright!” Their Dad set down his silverware with a bit more force than necessary, “Let’s stop the interrogation there for today. Alfred we’ll be discussing proper safety techniques surrounding various tools later.” Alfred made a face, Aunt Ciara muttered something about Arthur starting by discussing himself and Uncle Sean almost upset his glass when he brought up his fist to stifle his laugh. Undeterred, Dad continued, “Festival things start in half an hour so let’s focus on that instead shall we?” 

“Excellent idea!” Francis clapped his hands together, “And because I cooked and the boys helped me the rest of you can do the dishes.” A chorus of groans rose up, “Hush, with the five of you it’ll take no time at all.” 

Thankfully, the movement and blatant complaining that followed was enough to halt the conversation about Matthew’s love life and he focused on getting his plate to the sink as quickly as possible without accidentally strangling himself on the garland that had come unstuck from the wall. 

Unfortunately, because life is never really fair, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his Dad staring at him with an understanding expression. The rest of the family were bustling into the kitchen, almost tripping over one another, and Uncle Dylan nearly dropped the potatoes as he maneuvered the dish out. 

“Yeah?” Matthew asked. 

“Ignore my siblings, and your own, none of them can resist a little ribbing. We do want you to be comfortable enough to tell us if you’re dating anyone though, so don’t feel like-” His Dad started, keeping his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. Oh dear, this was awkward. Romantics were absolutely not his Dad’s strong suit. 

“Are we giving the Dad talk about dating?” Papa piped up from where he had suddenly appeared in the doorway, an effective barrier to the rest of the family walking in and also blocking his last exit. 

Fantastic.   
***********  
Gilbert was halfway across town, fingers freezing off and nose dripping unpleasantly when the trail went cold and he kicked a stray clump of snow into a nearby fire hydrant where it exploded into a shower of powder. 

“Couldn’t have done that earlier?!” He mocked sarcastically sniffing for the umpteenth time and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets to escape the frigid winter wind that flew through the unprotected street. Being angry was certainly easier to do in contrast to focusing on the absolute embarrassment that threatened to overwhelm him at the knowledge that the trail went cold because it had reached its destination, though maybe someone had mistaken it for a snowman and hit it with their car? 

That was a stupid idea, he was stupid, damn it was cold as balls out here and he couldn’t feel his face. 

Gilbert sent another ice chunk, a nice big one that probably fell from someone’s wheel well, scuttling across the street as he debated his options. On one hand, he was about 5 minutes away from Matthew’s house and he could theoretically go over there right now and explain himself. On the other, he sucked at this and what if Matt thought he was being creepy or -god forbid- didn’t even like him back and he had just ruined their friendship forever? 

He brought his hand out from the safety of his pocket long enough to check again that there were no rejection messages and was barely comforted when the only text on his screen was (honestly too many) laughing emojis from Antonio in response to his latest meme in the group chat. A few driveways down, Ivan Braginski had stopped levitating the snow off his driveway long enough to stare at Gilbert’s pacing, though Gilbert was blissfully unaware of it. 

Matthew wouldn’t be so cruel as to crush his dreams over text...was he? Gilbert hoped not, Matt was shy and nice and he always laughed at all of Gilbert’s jokes but wasn’t afraid to call him out when he was being too annoying and he listened, like actually listened when people were talking and he was the sweetest and most considerate person Gilbert had ever known and he was willing to share those awesome maple cookies he always seemed to have stashed away in his bag and his hair looked really fluffy and Gilbird liked sleeping in it which was the cutest thing Gilbert had ever seen and was a picture he treasured more than anything else-

Fuck, he had it bad.

His pocket dinged and he nearly dropped his phone as he fumbled to grab it. It was only Lovino calling him a disgrace. His meme choice had been excellent then. 

He sent back a picture of a smirking Shaquille O’Neal and then went right back to despairing over having just annihilated his romantic prospects. He turned back the way he came. At this point it was probably a lost cause, and he might as well delay the inevitable until they saw each at tonight’s festival. Although, if he suddenly came down with the flu and couldn’t make it outside to see the fireworks-

Gilbert abruptly turned on heel and started walking towards Matthew’s house. No, that would be a dick move to just leave Matt hanging like that, and he doubted he’d be able to sit still for an entire day worrying over his friend’s response. Then again, Matt’s Dad gave off slightly menacing vibes and if all the members of the Kirkland clan were in town for the weekend and had the potential to chase off the unwanted suitor of their darling nephew-

He turned back around, almost slipped and ate shit on the pavement, and made a sound that was honestly a bit wookie-ish. 

“Fuckin’ coward.” 

His mood was not improved by the walk back to his own house, in fact it had only soured further and if that wasn’t the best argument against Roderich prattling about how daily walks were good for the mind (either you were running or hiking and both of those options had set destinations and even though Gilbert enjoyed random walks he did not enjoy Roderich shoving it down his throat), he didn’t know what was. Not to mention, there were a lot of slippery patches and he liked his teeth and bones intact. 

“I’m back.” He announced morosely to the empty hallway, fingers crossed in his pockets that it was only Vati and Ludwig home as he hopped around to kick off his boots, not quite ready to move his hands yet. 

Because the universe was a bitch sometimes though, a response came not from someone he knew wouldn’t give a shit, or give him shit about him having potentially fumbled his chance at happiness, but from the second-last person he wanted to see right now. 

“Welcome back Gilbert, how’d it go.” Eliza popped her head out from the living room and he scowled, throwing his coat unceremoniously on the rack. Gilbert glared at Elizaveta and shouldered past her with a mutter of ‘shut up’. Or at least he tried to, Eliza could be damn strong when she wanted. 

“You chickened out didn’t you?”

Twenty-three seconds passed. 

“Ja.”

***************  
For someone who had campaigned so heartedly for some sort of winter festival to both ‘encourage community bonding and boost morale during the winter months’ and ‘celebrate love because that’s important above all’, Francis Kirkland-Bonnefoy was doing a remarkable job at complaining about it. 

Matthew, for once, was elated about the complaining, only because it kept the attention away from him and his love life. Granted, Alfred kept waggling his eyebrows every time their eyes met and there was no way Matthew would be able to escape an interrogation later, but for now he was safe. Even if he did have to bear witness to his parents canoodling. 

His Aunt and Uncles had hightailed it away from the rest of the family unit the second they had all arrived, more eager to get to the pop-up beer garden than spend another minute in each other’s presence. Matthew wondered if they realized they all had the same destination in mind despite taking different paths to get there. 

“If you’re so freezing cold then why didn’t you pack an extra scarf?” Dad snapped, attempting to push away his husband, who had firmly attached himself to his side. “Damn- Francis let go of me.”

Their parents made quite the pair, Dad dressed only in a thin jacket to keep potential snowflakes off his skin, confident in his pyromancy to keep him warm regardless of the temperature, while beside him Papa looked more like a baby blue marshmallow. 

“You’re warm and today is Valentine’s day so that means you have to be nice to me.” Papa retorted, “And I can’t let go because then I would be cold and I hate the cold.”   
“Why are you here then? This whole debacle was your idea in the first place.” 

“Because I love love, amour, romance, all of those wonderful things.” Francis declared, taking Arthur’s arm with both hands. Dad just blinked at him. “Arthur, give me a kiss.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Aaannd that’s our cue.” His brother echoed everything Matthew was currently feeling and grabbed his arm, yanking the two of them away and into the crowd. “You can thank me again later.” Alfred called over his shoulder as they picked their way through townspeople, everyone milling about at the various pop-up stands. 

Matthew caught sight of a stand with a jaunty red sign advertising hot chocolate, “Again?”

“Duh again, I protected you from that weird skeleton thing and now I’ve helped preserve your innocence so you’re welcome. I’ll accept your thanks in cash.” 

Pace slowing, the brothers walked side-by-side, something that proved advantageous when Matthew elbowed Alfred in the gut. An elderly lady in a horrid puce puff coat frowned at him and Matthew only smiled disarmingly at her, his hands going to tap a rhythm on Alfred’s head. Alfred snorted and flapped around, disgruntled. 

“Not cool dude!”

“Says the one bragging about his heroism, you screamed like a little girl when the skeleton showed up.”

“It was a battle cry.” 

Matthew laughed as Alfred jostled him back, boots sliding in the snow, trampled smooth by dozens of feet. “Whose, Strawberry Shortcake’s?”

Alfred scowled and Matthew had no doubt he would have gotten a face full of snow if they had been just a little closer to a snowbank. “I will pick you up and hurl you across this field.”

“And risk Dad yelling at you again?”

“He thought it was funny.”

It was funny, looking back, and Matthew could only imagine what a sight that must have been for their parents - seeing one of your children flying over the roof of the house and into the pool. However at the time, with a broken arm and regret deep in his heart, Matthew hadn’t enjoyed it very much. “He thought it was impressive.” He shot back instead, rubbing at his left arm in sympathy, “And he only admitted it once when he thought we were asleep but you were eavesdropping.”

“Still counts.” 

Matthew rolled his eyes and bounced a few steps away to where the crowd had thinned out some. A random Michael Buble song was blaring from the striped tent next to him, canvas walls flapping in the slight breeze as people jostled each other to get to whatever food or beverage was being sold. 

“Tell you what.” Alfred sidled up next to him, grin still apparent despite him huddling as far as he could into his coat, zipper up to the top. “You can thank me by buying one of those giant pretzels.” 

Matthew pursued his lips, fiddling with an old receipt in his pocket. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Sweet! Can you get one of those little cups of Nutella to go with it?” 

“Well…” Matthew glanced behind him, already planning his escape route through a gap in the crowd that would let him make a beeline directly to the hot chocolate stand. “I’m supposed to meet up with Gil and Lovino.”

“And? You can do that after you buy me my pret-” Alfred’s eyes widened at the same time Matthew pivoted and he made a strange noise in his throat. “No wait Matt! You fucker!”

Matthew, already running, turned slightly to give a wave and laughed when Alfred sent him back a not-so-nice gesture in return. No way in hell was he about to let Alfred’s puppy-dog stare wrangle him into buying something, besides, he really had promised to meet up with the others, and he certainly couldn’t do that while waiting in the pretzel line. Although-

Matthew wove his way to the hot chocolate stand he had seen before, thanking the stars that the line had shortened. He also wasn’t about to tell Alfred that while he had said he would meet up with the others, there was someone in particular that he would be meeting up with. Individually, one-on-one, alone. 

“Two cups please.” 

People were already starting to migrate towards the field, albeit slowly, and with two styrofoam cups in hand Matthew made his way towards the grandstands, aiming for a seat close to the top, preferably nearer to the corners to minimize the risk of an errant family member spotting him. The heat from the drink warmed his hands and helped to freeze the shaking that wasn’t wholly due to the chill. 

‘Oh calm down.’ He told himself, climbing up the stone steps, taking special care not to slip on the salt. ‘It’s not like there’s anything going on between you two, this is just a nice friendly chat between friends. On Valentine’s Day, and you bought him hot chocolate.’

‘Like any good friend would!’ His more rational side piped up. 

‘Yeah, because buying it for the rest of your friends would be weird right?’ Said the other voice, the one that had been corrupted by his Papa’s incessant watching of cheesy rom-coms over the past forever. 

‘Cost effective’. Declared the rational one, the one that sounded an awful lot like his Dad. 

Matthew huffed and scrambled up the last few steps, glad that the climb had dissuaded more than a couple people from climbing this high. He didn’t even know what he was doing, and the last thing he needed was his own conscience confusing him every step of the way. It wasn’t like he was going to confess or anything, god no. What would happen if he stammered in the middle of it or he said the wrong thing or if Gilbert said no?? 

Nope, not happening. He valued their friendship too much to attempt a shaky confession. It was nothing more than an awkward little crush that sure, may be almost a year old but he could deal with it. Content himself with replaying all the times Gilbert laughed at one of his jokes or called him cute whenever Matthew went over and Gilbird sat on him and that one time he stared so long at Gilbert in a tank top fixing an engine in the auto shop that Lovino had thrown his shoe at him. 

Fuck, he had it bad. 

Matthew groaned and pulled out his phone, glancing at the last message he had sent. 

[12:47] The weirdest thing just happened.

He frowned, Gilbert hadn’t even read it, which wasn’t unheard of but was strange for someone who seemed to spend 90% of their life on some sort of device and was notorious for responding to messages at 4am. Matthew shook his head and tapped out a follow-up, he was definitely reading into things far too much, lord knows he himself was occupied most of the day. 

[6:17] Found a nice spot at the top of the bleachers, wanna meet up there? I brought hot chocolate :) 

Maybe the smiley was a bit much. Too late now though, sent off into the void of cyberspace.

Matthew sighed, hunkering down against the wind that had picked up and wishing he had some of Dad’s natural ability to act as a human furnace. Today was the day of love, sure, but considering this morning had felt more like Halloween than anything, he supposed it wouldn’t be so bad if the day passed without anymore ‘romantic’ incidents. What’s more, with every minute that passed he became more convinced that the candygram skeleton had been nothing more than an elaborate prank, the next in a long line of strange occurrences that were bound to happen when the neighbourhood teenagers were off discovering what weird thing their powers could do. 

Which brought him back to the whole skeleton thing. While a part of him was hoping a certain pale-haired lab partner of his would be receptive to something more romantic, Matthew also wanted to get Gilbert’s opinion on the events of this afternoon. After all, Gilbert was the resident expert on pranks of every variety, not to mention his inclination towards everything dead-

Matthew stopped mid-sip. Skeletons running around town wasn’t exactly a normal occurrence, and the four times prior it had happened were all because of a certain errant albino with a fervour for causing mischief. 

The pieces slotted into place and Matthew blinked. 

Frankly he was just plain dumb not to have realized it sooner, though Alfred hadn’t either (which wasn’t saying a lot, Alfred still hadn’t noticed the naked cherub sticker Matt had stuck to his forehead two hours earlier). 

Had Gilbert really just...pranked him? On Valentine’s Day? When Matthew had a dorky and not-so-secret but he was trying okay, crush that was too awkward to initiate anything and also terrified of rejection? Matthew deflated, a small frown appearing. Ouch, that was disappointing. 

But what if it wasn’t a prank? A small part of him wondered, the one not sobbing about unrequited love. What if Gil had been serious-

For one second he caught sight of a flash of blond hair and the next made out the body it was attached to taking the stairs two at a time and just barely darting away from the other people mulling about. Honestly, there was ice and salt on those steps and Gilbert was going to crack his head open. 

Matthew’s fingers tightened on the little cups, the styrofoam cracking under his grip as his friend drew near. 

This was going to be an interesting conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Arthur, his siblings, and Francis are the only actual adults here...sure why not. It’s a free-for-all when it comes to people’s ages. 
> 
> Some would advise you to stay away from multiple POV changes in one chapter, I am not one of those people, nor do I know when to stop. Also I’m realizing that I was campaigning for Hetalia 2020 and lo and behold we’re on track for Hetalia 2021...coincidence? Who knows anymore. 
> 
> I’ll be posting the final chapter on February 13th, exactly a year after I had originally intended to.


End file.
